


Relentless

by TheWeirdDane



Category: Hitman (Video Games)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Choking, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29529267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWeirdDane/pseuds/TheWeirdDane
Summary: He's a master class hitman, and you're... well, you. And you desperately want him.
Relationships: Agent 47 (Hitman)/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	Relentless

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing Hitman fic, pwease don't be mean, I'm a delicate flower :(  
> This is, essentially, just me publishing a fantasy. Oops?

Agent 47 is, of course, always strictly professional. Right up until he’s not. 

Like now, when his hands are locked firmly around your throat. You grin and wink at him, deliberately mocking him. 

“That all you got?” you purr, and there’s a flash of annoyance in his perfect, icy blue eyes, then they crinkle at the corners, and his hands come loose to cup your face, thumbs brushing just beneath your eyes. 

“Careful, girl,” he rumbles, and heavens, that  _ voice _ !, “you’re playing with fire.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m a pyromaniac,” you grin and lean up to swipe your tongue along his lips. For a second, he seems startled, even though you’ve played this game countless times, and then he flashes a seldom smile, and his hands come down on your throat again, tighter than before, and you can’t help a shaky moan. Your back arches slightly, and your instincts want you to struggle.

So, you do. Just a bit, just enough that he has to use his body weight to keep you down, and his warm body against yours makes you almost delirious with need. You grab his wrists and try to wrestle them away, but he sees through you. 

“Told you,” he growls, “playing with fire.” 

A deep blush crawls over your face, but you still grin at him. 

“Harder, daddy.”

An amused snort escapes him, and he shakes his head, but nonetheless obeys - he tightens the grip until your fingers twitch and your vision turns fuzzy around the edges. He keeps the grip there until your clawing turns weak and sluggish and your eyelids flutter. 

“That’s what you want?” he asks, for it  _ is _ a question - despite having done this so many times before, it still baffles him that this brings you so much pleasure. 

“Yes,” you croak out, weakly, and close your eyes until his command to, “look at me” seems to boom through your skull. You look at him, struggling to breathe and your every nerve ending screaming and burning, and between your legs, a sticky mess. 

He swallows visibly. 

“Are you ready for the main event, miss?” he asks, and though his voice never wavers, it does waver slightly. 

“Yes,” you croak again and clumsily spread your legs for him. He lets go of your throat with one hand to let it dive between your legs, and the moment he touches you, your back arches again, and you try to inhale deeply, only getting a pathetic amount of oxygen into your burning, aching lungs. 

His fingers - rough, calloused, and broad - fondle your clitoris, and you want to scream, but you’re unable to produce a single sound. It isn’t until they split you open that your lips fly apart, and a quiet, choked-off moan is ripped from your throat. Weakly, you grab his strong forearm and press your nails into the shirt, hoping to leave crescent marks on his skin. 

He spends eons sheathing his fingers fully inside you, and when his knuckles press against you, your heart is working double-time, and you feel like you’re about to explode, the blood thundering in your ears. You crane your neck, and his hand expertly follows, not giving you a second’s break. 

You heave in air as well as you can, gulping and choking, and through the white fuzziness around the edges of your vision you feel the sticky delight between your legs grow and grow. 

“You really do like this,” he muses and grinds his knuckles firmly against you while his other hand lets up the pressure before giving a firm squeeze. You breathe in greedily, nearly choking on the sudden amount of oxygen, and let out a loud, raspy groan. 

“ _ Yes, _ ” you whisper and squeeze his arm, trying to focus on his face. 

Just like he spent eons sheathing his fingers inside you, it takes him forever to withdraw them, and you whimper - an honest-to-god, proper whimper. He’s teasing you, and it has taken ages for him to get comfortable enough with sex to actually tease. Born and bred to obey orders, it’s no wonder that he was initially reluctant to purposefully avoid giving you what you so clearly wanted. 

Now, however, after several rehearsals, he seems to enjoy it just as much himself. His eyes sparkle when you whine and thrash, and though he doesn’t quite  _ laugh, _ there’s the faintest chuckle whenever you beg for him. 

You want it the other way around, though - you want  _ him _ begging for  _ you. _

For now, though, his fingers push deep inside you, and his other hand grabs your throat firmly again, making your eyes roll into the back of their sockets, and you make a wanton kind of sound that would have embarrassed you if you were with any other man. Or woman, for that matter. 

Because it is  _ him, _ though, you feel safe. You know he won’t judge you, that he won’t mock you for the sounds you make. So, when he softly asks, “Let me hear you?”, you can’t help a smile. 

“I’m not trying to,  _ ah, _ be quiet,” you mumble, caught by surprise by a sudden thrust, and then, without warning and without mercy, his fingers begin pumping in and out of you, hard and fast, and you cling to his arm as if for dear life. 

All sorts of sounds leave you - moans, gasps, groans, sighs - but it is when he leans down to kiss you that you come undone. His lips are firm and warm, his hand tight on your throat and his fingers reaching so deep in you, and you croak out his name - number? - repeatedly, each time getting more and more shrill, until it’s in a frequency only available to dogs. 

He’s relentless, of course, fingering you through your orgasm until you need to push ever so gently at his arm. Then he stops, and slowly withdraws his fingers from you. 

Never does his hand leave your throat, though. Now, the grip has loosened considerably, and it seems to only rest there, as if a reminder of what he  _ can _ do. 

“Fuck,” you curse and laugh weakly, looking up at him. The corners of his mouth twitch in a smile, and he kisses you again. It’s soft, almost chaste, and you sigh into him. He swallows the sound, and you’re bound to realize, once more, that you’re helplessly in love with him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed <3


End file.
